


The Singing Contest

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [14]
Category: The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 22:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Center is holding a singing “contest” for the agents—and the prize is a new mission. Rachel is not fooled by this, but she and a couple of other staff members enjoy sitting in the audience, watching agents like Jeremy and Karl trot out previously-unknown musical talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Singing Contest

“Do you have an appointment at two o’clock today?” Jeremy wanted to know.

“No, I think I’m free then,” Rachel told him as she finished changing the dressing on the wolf bite. The area was still a little red and swollen, with a remarkable jagged outline, but considering that he really should be dead, it was healing well. “You want to grab a coffee or something?”

“I can’t, I’m busy,” he replied matter-of-factly, and Rachel rolled her eyes.

“What’d you ask me for then, buster?” she prompted, peeling off her gloves.

He tugged his pantleg back down. “There’s a singing contest in the Small Auditorium,” he informed her, and Rachel looked up from the sink in confusion.

“A singing contest?”

“For the agents,” Jeremy attempted to clarify. “We’re going to sing and people from outside are going to judge us and pick the winner.”

“Kind of like _Agent Idol_ , huh?” Rachel guessed, intrigued. She’d not known the Center to have social events of any kind for the agents.

Jeremy frowned at her. “We won’t be idle, we’ll be singing,” he corrected. “Except when we’re waiting for our turn, I guess.”

“No, I meant—“ Rachel decided the explanation was not worth it. “What do you win?”

“A new mission.”

Aha. Suddenly this made a little more sense to her. “Did you volunteer to sing in this ‘contest’?” she asked him.

“No, I was ordered to.”

She presumed the prized ‘new mission’ required singing ability, then, and this was the bosses’ way of figuring out who had it, according to some outsiders’ standards. And with that she probably already knew more about the mission than she should.

“ _Can_ you sing?” she checked.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t seem bothered by this. “Will you come watch?”

Rachel smiled. “Of course. If it’s allowed.”

**

Just before two Rachel made her way to the Small Auditorium. She was not the only employee who had heard about the ‘contest’ and come to watch, burning with curiosity about the musical talents of the agents. “Dr. Ward!” someone called, and she turned to see Jayla Horner waving her over.

“Hi, Jayla,” she responded. “How did you hear about this thing?”

“Karl invited me this morning,” Jayla shrugged, mystified. She was Karl’s physical therapist, which was how Rachel knew her. “And you?”

“Jeremy,” Rachel replied. Jayla had probably guessed that.

“Oh, this is Manuel Ortega,” Jayla added as a young man joined them.

“Rachel Ward,” Rachel introduced, shaking his hand. “You work in the cafeteria, don’t you?”

He looked slightly uncomfortable being surrounded by all the high-level staff and security. “Yeah, at the coffee bar, usually. Uh, large extra sugar, extra espresso, right?” he remembered.

“That’s right,” Rachel laughed. “Am I _that_ bad? Who are you here to see?”

“Kate Thomas invited him,” Jayla replied, in a teasing tone. Manuel smiled awkwardly.

“Oh yeah, I always see her around the coffee bar,” Rachel agreed. Kate Thomas was not one of her patients, but Jeremy had pointed her out before.

Manuel seemed eager to not talk about himself. “Hey, did you see who the judges are?” He nodded towards the front row, where a small knot of people were milling around. “In the red, that’s—“

“Oh my G-d, is that Trent Michaels?!” Jayla almost squealed.

“No! From Unicorn Meat?” Rachel leaned forward to get a closer look.

“It is,” Manuel agreed. “And the big guy is Peter Rivers, the record producer.”

“I’ve actually heard of him,” Rachel replied, “so he _must_ be important.”

“And the woman is a vocal coach,” Manuel added. “I didn’t catch her name, but she talked about working with Christina Aguilera, Justin Timberlake, all the big names.”

“G-d, this is serious,” Rachel observed, not sounding very serious. “Come on, let’s get some good seats. Can Karl even sing?”

“I don’t know,” Jayla admitted. “Can Jeremy?”

“He said he didn’t know,” Rachel told her dryly. “What about Kate?”

“No clue,” Manuel shrugged.

They settled into three seats in the middle of the auditorium with a good view of the stage. The place was by no means full, but there were certainly more people around than strictly needed to be. Rachel saw Directors Quarles and Delu down in the front row with the judges. There was no announcement or fanfare, just a sudden quieting of the audience, and then the first agent walked out onstage.

“Who’s that?” Rachel whispered to Manuel.

“I think his name is Daniel,” he whispered back. “I see him in the cafeteria sometimes.”

Daniel signaled to someone just offstage who was controlling the music, and a big band track started to play. On cue, the agent began singing into the microphone he held. Well, he wasn’t going to make anyone forget about Sinatra, but he was better than Rachel had been expecting. After about a minute the song ended and Daniel awaited the judges’ comments, not looking particularly nervous or excited.

“Good voice, there’s potential there,” offered the vocal coach.

“Zero stage presence, man,” critiqued Trent Michaels, the rock star. “You’ve got to emote more, move around!”

“Not really the style we’re looking for,” said Peter Rivers, the record producer, in a definitive tone. Rachel assumed he was, somehow, the one in charge.

Daniel listened to all this blankly, then exited when Quarles gave him the nod. Another agent took his place from backstage.

None of them were awful, so Rachel assumed there’d been some kind of pre-screening; their voices ranged from passable to surprisingly good, with the music styles all over the place. The rock star finally gave up complaining about their lack of stage presence, because _no one_ had that. Rachel couldn’t imagine any of the agents she knew really getting down and boogying, and when she did it only made her giggle. If stage presence was a necessity the mission might be sunk.

Kate Thomas stepped onstage and Manuel tensed beside Rachel, who hid a smirk. Kate was a statuesque brunette whose cold gaze could be very intimidating—it must be a bit overwhelming to be singled out by her. Her choice of song was a smoky jazz standard.

“I don’t think she’s gonna get it,” Manuel whispered when she was done.

“Not the strongest vocals,” admitted the voice coach, “but you use what you have well.”

“She has that kind of jazzy whisper-singing thing down,” Jayla pointed out optimistically.

“Sexy look, sexy voice,” judged the rock star. “Definite potential.”

“She kind of moved her hips a couple times,” Rachel added. That was more than anyone else had done.

“Maybe,” the record producer allowed dubiously. “But—it’s gotta be stronger, more natural.”

“It depends on what they’re looking for,” Rachel opined, when Manuel looked crestfallen at the judges’ comments. “Like, if someone said their hobby was singing jazz, she could play that.” She hoped that didn’t sound too patronizing.

Another couple of singers came and went. One managed a cover of Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” without appearing to move a single muscle, even though her rendition was good enough to get some of the punchy audience grooving in their seats. “I wonder how they choose their songs,” Jayla mused.

“Yeah, Jeremy always says he doesn’t even _like_ music,” Rachel scoffed.

Suddenly Karl walked out onstage and Jayla shushed them all in a cutely flustered way, even though no one had been talking right then. Karl took the microphone, standing ramrod straight on the stage—proud, haughty, and cartoonishly Teutonic, Rachel always thought. This was, however, his normal stance, which looked more natural onstage than, say, in the lunch line. Symphonic music swelled behind him, and he opened his mouth to produce—opera. Loud, soaring, powerful, overwhelming opera in German.

“Oh my G-d,” Rachel commented, trying not to giggle. He was actually quite good, if you didn’t mind that you could picture Hitler enjoying this stuff.

He stopped and there was utter silence in the auditorium. Then suddenly Jayla began applauding enthusiastically, a look of wonder on her face. Rachel and Manuel reluctantly clapped as well as a smattering of others joined in. Karl glanced at them but seemed not to care either way.

“Um, great vocals there,” the voice coach said finally, sounding slightly overpowered. “Great pitch, lots of projection.”

“I’m just blown away right now,” the rock star added cheerfully. “You could be at the Met, man.”

“Do you sing any other kind of music?” the record produced asked. “Like rock or blues?”

“I’ve never tried,” Karl replied flatly.

“Uh, well, maybe the shortlist?” the vocal coach suggested. “Maybe go try some Meat Loaf and come back again.”

“I had lunch already,” Karl intoned, and Rachel and Manuel desperately tried to control their sniggers. Jayla gave them a dirty look.

“Next!” ordered the record producer, and Karl left.

“He was good, he was good,” Rachel placated Jayla. “Just—oh my G-d, I did not expect that.”

“He was really—yeah,” Manuel agreed, shaking his head in amazement. “I mean—whoa. Opera.”

“I think it was beautiful,” Jayla avowed, as Rachel and Manuel avoided eye contact. “Karl really has such an artistic soul.” Rachel shook slightly from the effort of controlling her laughter and almost lost it when she felt Manuel doing the same.

No one else tried opera. But Min Lee performed a not-safe-for-work Snoop Dogg rap, and someone else Rachel didn’t recognize sang a whispery “make love, not war” folksong that drenched the auditorium in uncomfortable irony. There was also a Queen power ballad sung by an immobile man in a polo shirt who _may_ have been a robot slipped into the lineup by accident.

“I would love to have this on video,” sighed Manuel, who had loosened up considerably once Kate’s moment was over.

“Somewhere, it _is_ on video,” Jayla predicted.

“I would love to put it on YouTube,” Rachel said boldly. “But that would result in instant termination.” And she didn’t mean a mere pink slip.

“Maybe Karl would be sent to shatter your eardrums,” Manuel joked, and he and Rachel cracked up while Jayla glared.

Finally Jeremy walked out onstage, unassuming and casual. He looked out into the audience first and Rachel waved at him; he waved back. She straightened up a little in her seat—and then the music started and she began to seriously wonder if this was going to be horrible. Most people knew the opening bars to this particular slice of ‘70’s rock, and a lot of them would probably think it was terribly cheesy.

Then Jeremy opened his mouth.

“ _Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world_.”

Rachel’s jaw hit the floor.

“Holy _s—t_ ,” said Jayla.

“ _She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere_.” Jeremy bobbed his head along to the music, seemingly enjoying himself. “ _Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit. He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere_.”

Rachel’s heart was pounding and inexplicably tears sprang to her eyes. She wasn’t usually so affected by music, but his _voice_ was just so husky and bluesy and rock ‘n’ roll, and totally unexpected.

“ _A singer in a smoky room, a smell of wine and cheap perfume. For a smile they can share the night. It goes on and on and on and on_ —“ Jeremy was actually _jumping_ up and down on the stage now as people clapped along to the beat.

“ _Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night_ ,” he continued. “ _Streetlights, people, living just to find emotion. Hiding, somewhere in the night_.” He drew the last notes out with a raw power that left Rachel literally gasping for breath.

Then the music stopped as planned, and Jeremy stood there on the stage, perfectly composed, as if he’d just walked out and nothing spectacular had happened. The room erupted in cheers and Jeremy glanced up with mild interest, as though curious why people were making all that noise. Then he turned his gaze directly on Rachel, who was just sitting there in shock. He frowned slightly and she hurriedly nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, and he relaxed.

The judges were equally impressed. “What’s his name again?” demanded the record producer.

“Jeremy Green,” Jeremy responded flatly.

“Dude, that was _awesome_ ,” the rock star complimented him. “I wanna hear the rest of the song!” Hoots from the audience approved this plan.

“That was really good,” the vocal coach understated. “Let’s hear something else, a different style. Um, something slower. Can you do it _a cappella_?”

Rachel prayed Jeremy knew what _a cappella_ meant. He thought for a moment, then started singing again without the musical backing.

“ _Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood_ ,” he sang, and Rachel wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive it. “ _Hop a flight to Miami Beach, or to Hollywood. But I’m taking a Greyhound to the Hudson River line. I’m in a New York state of mind_.”

He actually sounded like he had a genuine affection and longing for New York City—maybe he did, for all Rachel knew. She suddenly felt like she didn’t know him at all, which was both disconcerting and thrilling at the same time.

Not sure how long he was supposed to go on, Jeremy repeated the last line of the verse, drawing it out for the big finish and changing the key as appropriate. Maybe that didn’t seem like such a big deal, but to Rachel, who knew how literal Jeremy could be, it was tremendous.

Once again the audience applauded wildly, and this time Rachel joined in. She was relieved he hadn’t embarrassed himself—something she hadn’t even realized she was worried about until she found herself suddenly able to relax and have fun, instead of tensely listening to his performance. She gave Jeremy a big smile when he checked her reaction and he nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah, that was _great_ ,” the vocal coach finally said. “Great tone, great breath control—“

“Man, you’re the best we’ve seen this afternoon,” the rock star declared. The crowd cheered again, and Quarles turned around in his seat to glare at them. This wasn’t actually _American Idol_ , after all. “Don’t be afraid to let loose up there,” Trent Michaels encouraged. “I see you got it in you, just let it out!” Jeremy’s eyebrows raised as if he were considering this, and Rachel wondered what Director Quarles made of such advice—usually Jeremy letting loose was a very _bad_ thing.

“Yeah, you can sing,” Rivers the record producer judged, in a satisfied tone. “You play any instruments?”

“I play the guitar, keyboard, and drums,” Jeremy reported matter-of-factly. Rachel had some vague recollection of him learning to play the guitar for a mission—he had gotten blisters on his fingers from practicing so much.

“Let’s get this guy a guitar,” Rivers insisted. Immediately people began scurrying around to obey him. “Get him a guitar and a mic stand.”

“Did you know he could sing?” Manuel demanded as they waited for the setup.

“No,” Rachel admitted, still utterly amazed.

“He’s so good,” Jayla agreed. “It doesn’t seem like that voice should come out of him.”

“I know,” Rachel nodded. “I’m just—floored.” And then suddenly, she was very sad—because maybe Jeremy could’ve had a career in music, if he hadn’t gone whatever route landed him here, _pretending_ to have a career in music while really, he killed people.

Anticipation built as a mic stand was placed in front of Jeremy and someone handed him a guitar. “Go on and play something,” the vocal coach prompted when he hesitated. “And sing, too.” Obviously she had picked up on the literal nature of the agents as well.

Jeremy thought for a moment, then started strumming the guitar. For a second Rachel couldn’t place it, then she recalled the song and grinned. Jeremy tapped his foot to the beat and within seconds the audience was clapping along in rhythm. Rachel was no longer worried about the singing part.

“ _Well I don’t know why I came here tonight_ ,” Jeremy began. “ _I’ve got a feeling that something ain’t right. I’m so scared in case I fall off my chair, and I’m wonderin’ how I’ll get down the stairs. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you_.”

He sang the second verse, then the chorus again, then the part that ended with the drawn out “please” that showed off his voice. Then he stopped.

The audience clapped and cheered, and Jeremy nodded as though mildly satisfied by his performance. Rachel waved and nodded to encourage him.

She wasn’t sure if he was actually the last contestant, or if everyone just decided they had found who they were looking for and didn’t need to search anymore. Several administrative types from the front rows got up and started pushing the audience to go back to work, which was a little difficult as they were now in a rather mellow mood.

“That was fun,” Jayla decided as they stood.

“It was,” Manuel agreed. “They should have talent nights or something around here.”

“Well, they try to keep the agents from getting too competitive with each other,” Rachel was forced to point out. “Hey, tell Kate I thought she did a good job,” she added to Manuel. “Next time I see Karl, the opera thing is definitely gonna come up!”

“I wonder where he went,” Jayla said, looking around. “I’m going to try and find him. See you guys later!”

Jeremy was sitting on the edge of the stage, holding the guitar and talking to Michaels the rock star. He appeared to be showing the other man his wolf bite. For a moment Rachel hesitated to join them, in case she would be intruding on a classified discussion—not about the wolf bite, but Quarles was deep in conversation with Rivers the record producer nearby. But then she headed down to the front of the room anyway. When Jeremy saw her coming he hopped off the stage and left the guitar behind.

She hugged him impulsively. “I didn’t know you could sing so well,” she burbled, feeling a bit ridiculous and giddy.

“I didn’t know, either,” Jeremy claimed. He seemed pleased she had enjoyed it, though.

“Where did you, um, learn those songs?” Rachel asked him, chiding herself for her sudden awkwardness. This was still Jeremy, just leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets—not some unapproachable rock god from her youth.

“You played them,” he pointed out, and Rachel realized all three songs were on her ‘favorites’ playlist on her work computer, which Jeremy heard her listening to when he hung around her office.

She laughed suddenly. “I’m glad you picked those three,” she decided. “I mean, thank G-d you didn’t go with the Ke$ha or P!nk songs.”

“I thought about doing ‘Single Ladies’,” Jeremy deadpanned, and Rachel cracked up trying to imagine it.

“I’m gonna make you sing for me from now on,” she warned. “You and Karl.”

“Ah, Dr. Ward.” She turned to see Director Quarles bringing Rivers over. “Dr. Ward, Peter Rivers,” he introduced briefly. “You haven’t yet cleared Jeremy for mission status,” Quarles reminded her pointedly.

“That’s because he’s still got wolf tooth marks on his leg,” she replied, as politely as possible. She hated being pressured to put agents back out in the field before they were fully healed. “He could do prep work, though,” she offered, since Quarles obviously wasn’t pleased with her answer. “He’ll probably be good to go in another few days.”

“Dr. Ward is Jeremy’s doctor,” Quarles explained to Rivers in a schmoozey, patronizing way. “She can be a little overprotective of her agents sometimes.” Rachel raised an eyebrow as if to say _that_ comment was going to come back to haunt him later.

“Hey man, if he’s the right one for the job, I can wait a few days,” Rivers shrugged. “He’s got the music part down, but what about the rest?”

“Green is one of our top agents,” Quarles assured him. Rivers was clearly the type who preferred proof, not just words, though. “Green!” he ordered. “Spar.” The keyword would allow Jeremy to be more aggressive than usual inside the Center, but hopefully not really hurt anyone.

Jeremy stepped away from Rachel carefully, warning her to back up further, then handily dispensed with the three bodyguards Rivers pointed at him. He looked slightly disappointed at the meager level of resistance they put up.

“Dude, you would be so handy in a bar fight,” Trent Michaels declared with delight. “We could tear up the town!”

“Really?” Jeremy asked with apparent interest, and Quarles immediately stepped in.

“Let’s go talk in my office,” he suggested, indicating Jeremy and Rivers _only_. Director Delu was left to thank everyone else and send them away.

Jeremy glanced back over his shoulder at Rachel and she gave him a final thumbs-up. She was going to get a lot of mileage out of this hidden talent of his.

Assuming he returned from this mission alive, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by videos of Jeremy Renner singing.


End file.
